


13 on an island

by Chopin



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 13 year old Oliver, Cannon Divergence, Gen, Island story, Kid!Oliver, No Shado, Not Slash, Parental Slade Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6070999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chopin/pseuds/Chopin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver really was a kid when he got stranded on the island. Slade and Yao Fei have to deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Quick Summary

The icy water pulled at him, dragging him further and further away from the outstretched arms of his father and from the raft. Oliver panicked, splashing and flailing.

 

“Father!” Ollie shouted, trying to swim towards his dad, unsuccessfully, “Help!”

 

A black wave dropped on top of Oliver, and the 13 year old lost consciousness as he sunk below the depths of the sea.

 

-

 

Everything hurt.

 

Oliver rolled himself over, coughing a little, as every part of his tiny body screamed in agony at him. After a few minutes just breathing, lying on his stomach, Oliver managed to push himself up so that he was standing.

 

He was in a cave, a small fire was in the corner cooking… something.

 

Oliver shied away from the goey mass on a stick cooking above the flame. He looked around. He was in a cave, which was weird because the cave looked very… inhabited. There was a small cot was in a corner and bamboo pens were stacked in the corner (maybe they were for trapping bunnies?). A small rock was evidently functioning as a making-shift table...? Or something.

 

“Ah, you awake.”

 

The voice startled Oliver, who snapped around to find an old-looking oriental man had entered the cave. He carried with him one of those bamboo pens, and inside was three pheasants.

 

The man approached him, “You die almost.”

 

And Oliver found he could only nod.

 

“Where you come from?” The man placed the pheasants on the table and turned to face him fully.

 

Oliver bit his lip and cast his gaze away from the island-dweller man. Dirty and rugged and scary and matted – he looked like Oliver and Tommy after they got into a bad scrape in the swamp that one time they’d gone camping with Mr. Merlyn and his wife...

 

“My dad…” Ollie swallowed, “We – uh – were on a boat.” Hope flared in the old man’s eyes, Oliver felt bad for what flooded out of his mouth next as he spoke of the storm and the destruction of the ship and how Oliver almost drowned.

 

There was deafening silence.

 

“I think my dad is dead.” Oliver said at last.

 

The Chinese man just sat at the table, and he nodded. “Probably.”

 

Yao Fei turned out to be a pretty solid guy. He taught Oliver how to skin and de-feather animals, how to cook them, how to hunt them. He taught Oliver how to stay hidden and how to hide and run away without leaving a trail. Yao Fei taught Oliver to fight dirty, should he ever get caught by the bad men on the island. Yao Fei taught Oliver all about the fauna on the island, so much so that Oliver soon grew to have a better knowledge about the plants than even Yao Fei. But Oliver attributes that to the fact that he’d often experiment with plants that Yao Fei was scared of even looking at, then alone eating. Yao Fei was right to be wary and really... it wasn’t one of Ollie’s finer moments…

 

And when they were captured by Fyers, none of that had helped him or Yao Fei. Shado was nice to him, but then the man in the mask came and tortured him, and when he refused to tell the man in the mask where the plane or the submarine was (because he didn’t even know there _was_ a plane and a submarine on the island!), the mask-man hurt him.

 

The man in the mask cut him and burned him and slashed at him, and when that didn’t work, the mask man took Shado, his friend, and brought both her and him to Yao Fei. And when Yao Fei saw Shado, he began to cry.

 

Oliver never saw Yao Fei cry before.

 

And they asked all of them, “Where is the plane? Where is the submarine?” And when no one said anything, they killed Shado. Oliver had never seen anyone die before, and he’d never forget the way she looked as her skull exploded or the way her blood splattered or the sound of her scream before she slumped to the floor.

 

Yao Fei went mad and no one could restrain him. There was chaos, and in the chaos Oliver ran. Oliver ran away, crying and scared and alone. He ran right into the man with the mask, and that evil man of pain carried him away from the camp, bloody sword still in hand.

 

The following days on the island were some of the worst Oliver ever experienced.

 

The man in the mask was a man named William Wintergreen, and Wintergreen was an Australian spy looking for the submarine because he wanted the superman medicine supposedly inside. Apparently, it was like a secret weapon back from World War Two, but the submarine was attacked and got lost and no one had seen it since. Rumor goes, the submarine was on the island, somewhere.

 

Wintergreen didn’t care much about the plane though. He knew where it was but,  “Whatever, kid.” And that was that.

 

Oliver spent his time with Wintergreen tied up and dragged about like a puppy on a leash. During daylight, Wintergreen and him trampled through the forest, traveling or hunting or a mixture of the both. At night, they’d sleep or Wintergreen would torture Ollie for a few hours and then fall asleep while Oliver spent the night awake in agony.

 

Eventually they ended up back at the camp with Fyers, and while Fyers was mad that Wintergreen had just _up and left the group to deal with Yao Fei_ , Wintergreen just shrugged.

 

“Hey.” Wintergreen had huffed, “I told you that taking Yao Fei hostage was a bad plan, and I said I wasn’t going to deal with any of that shit when it went south.” And that was that.

 

 

 


	2. Enter Slade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver meets Slade

It was dark out, and Oliver was pretty sure the stars were shining bright considering how cold it currently was. Usually the stars were brightest on the coldest of nights, so the stars must have been blinding.

 

“Shen, is my turn for watch.” One guard huffed, practicing his poor English.

 

“Bù tài jiǔ fǎnzhèng1.” The other guard, Shen, laughed, “He dead soon. Fyers tired of him.”

 

“We executing him?” The first questioned, “Hǎo. Wǒ xǐhuān shuì zài zìjǐ de chuángshàng2.”

 

And with that the guards exchanged positions and silence resumed. Only, Oliver realized one very important thing – they weren’t planning on keeping him alive. In fact, they were planning on killing him.

 

Oliver felt panic begin to settle in his stomach. He had to leave and get away and get out. He exhaled. But he was tied up and trapped and being guarded. He inhaled. He heart thundered in his ears. But he could break his thumb? That would give him the space he needed to slip the ties. He exhaled. But then he would be free. He inhaled. But then they would chase him. He exhaled. He would just have to be quiet and fast.

 

He broke his thumb. He slipped the ties. He peeked out of the tent from the side opposite of the guard. He saw no one.

 

He ran.

 

Oliver didn’t stop running until dawn had broken, until he’d fallen over a log and down a mountain, until he’d collapsed into a lowland where he spotted a friggin' _plane_.

 

 _Well_ , Oliver amended in his head, _it_ **used** _to be a plane._ It was more wreckage and scrap metal than plane, but it was obvious to see that once the metal had flown the skies.

 

Oliver, with great effort, managed to push his burning shaky limbs into motion. He stood, barely, and managed to hobble over to the wreckage. It was a slow process, every step sent daggers up his legs. Oliver’s sides pinched at him with every step, but eventually he made it.

 

The side of the plane was open, the hatch to the plane was missing, but in its place was a green-black curtain, and beyond the curtain was… a home? Oliver paused just beyond the entrance of the fuselage.

 

This plane was inhabited. Just like the cave.

 

A cot in the corner, maps on crates (the crates apparently functioned as a table), food on the maps, a candle was still burning. Oliver felt a lump in his throat.

 

What if the man that lived here was like Wintergreen?

 

But then, what if the man that lived here was like Yao Fei?

 

Oliver bit his lip, unsure of what to do.

 

He chose to enter the fuselage, he approached the table and saw the food, and turned as saw the cockpit, and turned again and saw a great big mass of black.

 

“Move, and I cut out your voicebox.” The black mass threatened.

 

Oliver passed out.

 

The black mass turned out to be a man named Slade Wilson. He and Yao Fei were friends, apparently, before Yao Fei went batshit crazy and tried to kill everyone. Fyers had him slaughtered and had the body thrown into the forest. That’s how Slade learned about his friend and Shado, who was apparently the reason for Yao Fei’s… degeneration into madness and his capture and subsequent death.

 

Slade buried both bodies and returned to his life in the plane, seeking a way off this cursed island. Three weeks later, Oliver had stumbled right into him. Slade was threatened, because he wouldn’t put anything past Fyers, but Oliver so reminded him of Joe, his own son back home in New Zealand. With his bitch of an ex-wife.

 

Slade hated his life.

 

Upon Oliver passing out, Slade tied the boy up and in the process saw evidence of Billy Wintergreen’s handiwork. It looked recent, and that plus the broken thumb and exhaustion and dehydration made Slade realize that Oliver had probably held captive by Fyers until recently.

 

So why the change? Did the boy join Fyers or did he escape?

 

Since Fyers was more likely to kill a useless 13 year old, Slade reasoned the boy must have escaped, which is just stupid because how could a 13 year old brat escape Fyers and his men? He’s too weak and small. Which means they probably underestimated him, and the boy was lucky enough to get while the getting was good.

 

Slade didn’t know what to believe. He could let the boy live, which would endanger Slade’s own chances at survival. Or he could kill the boy, and become a slayer of children, like Billy and Fyers and everything Slade has ever stood against.

 

Slade could be safe or smart. Be moral or stupid. He had two options, and neither were desirable.

 

When Oliver began to awake, Slade knew time had run out. He needed to decide what to do.

 

“What- what’s going on?” And Oliver tried to scramble up and away from Slade.

 

“Hey. Hey. Hey, kid, it’s a’ight.” Slade crouched down in front of the child, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Oliver paused, “My name is Slade. Slade Wilson. And you are?” and Slade offered his hand.

 

“Ollie.” The boy took his hand.

 

And Slade forced a smile, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ollie.”

 

After that, things became less tense. Ollie told Slade everything that had happened and eventually settled himself into a corner of the plane, trying to sleep.

 

Slade just watched him and the outside, still wary of a trap. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Oliver, but then, what other options did he have…

 

* * *

1Not for too long anyways

 

2 Good. I like sleeping in my own bed.


	3. Lesson 1: Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade gives Oliver a mission.

Oliver had one job: start a fire.

 

_“Hey, kid!” Slade had called into the plane from the outside, keeping an eye on the treeline. Oliver scrambled up from whatever crate he’d managed to open and crawl into and inched his way out of the maze of cargo in the fuselage._

_“Coming!” Oliver cried as he ran, “Coming! Here I am! I’m here!” Oliver slipped as he reached the hatch of the plane and fell out, landing on his face, at Slade’s feet no less, and getting a mouthful of dirt as his reward._

_“… here.” Ollie sighed and he lifted his face from the mud._

_The Aussie huffed a laugh, deep and thick, “I can see that.” Slade reached down, grabbing Oliver by the scruff of his neck, his calloused fingers biting into Oliver’s skin, and wrenched the boy to his feet before dragging him over to the side of the plane, his grip at the back of Oliver’s neck unrelenting._

_Oliver yelped, but Slade paid him no heed. Boy needed to toughen up._

_There was kindling, leaves and sticks and logs and moss, and Slade dropped Oliver onto it all._

_“I’m going hunting.” Slade announced, “The boar is almost gone and we’ll need more food soon.”_

_“I could check the traps?” Oliver offered, but Slade waved him off._

_“No, I’ll do that.” Slade pointed to the bark, “You’re going to light a fire.”_

_Oliver turned his gaze to the bark, then back to Slade, who just_ stared _at him, and then Oliver looked back at the kindling. He swallowed, nervous. He’d never lit a fire before, not without gasoline or a lighter or… something._

_“But-“_

_“See ya later, kid. Don’t do anything stupid.” Slade winked –_ winked! – _at him, and trudged off without a backward glance._

_Oliver ran a hand through his growing hair – too long, needed to cut it somehow – and sighed._

_He was screwed._

The _last_ thing Ollie wanted to do was fail. Already he’d proved himself more than a little useless. He hadn’t been able to catch his own pheasants, or set any traps successfully, or even find the freshwater spring and refill the canteens…

 

Slade was going to leave him in the middle of the forest if Oliver couldn’t get his act together! And Oliver didn’t want to be alone in woods, not with Wintergreen out there… And Slade, he wasn’t like Wintergreen, but in some ways he was. Slade was demanding and expected a lot of Oliver, and Slade was always talking about all the things that he had to do to keep Oliver safe that Ollie couldn’t do for himself.

 

_If it wasn’t for me, kid, you’d be dead in the water._

 

And Oliver didn’t want to be useless. He wanted to be useful. He wanted Slade to… but it didn’t matter. _None_ of it would matter if Oliver couldn’t start this stupid fire.

 

So Oliver sat there, rubbing sticks together until he developed blisters. He kept rubbing those sticks until those blisters popped and left wet sores behind. He kept going until those sores began to bleed, and he kept going.

 

Oliver could feel the stress bubbling up within him.

 

He’d failed Slade. He couldn’t start the fire, he couldn’t do _one stupid little thing_ and now… now it was almost dusk and Slade would be back soon and see that Ollie had failed.  

 

Crying was for girls, but Oliver figured it would be okay, since no one was around to see him. And so he cried in frustration and in his uselessness and in his lostness. He cried because his father had left him, because Yao Fei and Shado were dead, because Oliver was alone on an island with men who wanted him dead and a man who didn’t – _wouldn’t_ – care about him until he proved himself.

 

And that’s when Oliver remembered the radio.

 

There was a radio in the plane and it didn’t work, the radio only caught static, but it turned on. Which means that the radio carried electricity. And electricity started fires.

 

Oliver shot to his feet, tears forgotten, and ran into the plane and right to the radio. He hefted the big box into his arms and carried it outside. It took all of two seconds to pop the casing open and Oliver took a wire that he knew was a part of the circuit, split the wire with his teeth, and then set both ends in the moss so that the metal of the wires were still touching, but also so that the metal in the wires touched the moss too.

 

He prayed the fire would light and then he turned the radio on.

 

Sparks flew and the fire lit up in a blaze.

 

Oliver quickly pulled the radio away from the flames and then was careful to use the moss-fire to burn the bark and small sticks. Once he had a seriously hot flame going, he carefully added the logs, so that he wouldn’t snuff out his fire, all the while making sure he added plenty of dry sticks and moss to feed into the fire.

 

It took an hour at least, but Oliver had his fire, and he was happy.

 

Oliver made sure to retie the wires in the radio together before he put radio back in the plane, where it belonged. He went back outside and sat by his fire. The fire _that Oliver made by himself._ Yeah, his palms hurt and he’d bled and he’d used a radio… but he’d done what was required of him by his own merit. Oliver had never done anything by his own merit before.

 

Slade returned just as the sun finally set, all was dark in the lowlands except for that which was lit by Oliver’s modest fire.

 

Slade held a wolf over his shoulders and a bouquet of pheasants hanging from each hip that swayed with every step. He paused as soon as he broke past the treeline, Oliver saw him stare at fire a moment, before he trudged over towards him.

 

Slade stopped walking once he’d gotten close enough to sit on Oliver, should he chose to do so, and watched the flames. There was a pause and then he turned his gaze toward Oliver, where the scrawny thirteen year old sat on the dirt, his neck craned up at an awkward angle so he could return Slade’s intense gaze.

 

“You wanna help make wolf jerky?”

 

And Oliver nodded, eager and happy.

 

So Slade collapsed on the ground next to the boy, the pheasants tossed to the side so that wouldn’t get in the way, the wolf dropped between Slade and the boy.

 

Slade unsheathed the two of his sabers, giving Oliver one, and began to teach him how to skin the wolf.

 

Oliver listened and learned. And once they were finished, covered in the animal’s blood and goo, some of the meat hanging above the open flame for their supper, Oliver fell asleep at Slade’s side, tucked under the Aussie’s arm, which curved around the boy.

 

Slade kept awake and watchful, eying the treeline and thinking of Billy and the wounds on the boy’s palms and of Yao Fei and his daughter. This island was no paradise, and Slade sighed, tucking Oliver closer to his side.

 

The boy would never survive the island as he was now, so Slade would have to kill the child hiding at his side and forge him anew. Oliver would never be the same, but he would survive if he could be remade.

 

That was Yao Fei’s mantra – Shēngcún - and it would soon become the boy’s.

 

Survive.


End file.
